Enola in a BBC World
by GiraffePanda2
Summary: (Basically Enola but in BBC Sherlock.) On Enola's fifteenth birthday, her mother disappears, and Sherlock and Mycroft, Enola's brothers, conclude that her mother left on her own choice. Enola decides to rebel against the high-class life. It's time for the youngest Holmes to make her way!
1. Stephanotis

**I am a HUGE Enola Holmes fan, like, REEEEEEAAAALLLLYYY HUGE. I have all six books, read them a dozen times. I really love Enola, so I decided to write a fanfic about it. Whoop, whoop go me!**

**GiraffePand2 does not own Enola Holmes Mystery or Sherlock BBC, cuz if I did, she would be in the TV show, and there would be a seventh book.**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

Prologue:

_London-_

_A black figure walks down the streets, if you can call them that. Here in the East End of London, they resemble more like alley ways. The figure hurries along, darting to shadow to shadow, hiding yet searching, only to find her lost loved one._

_Rats crawl around the bins, and the stench of ripe garbage is almost too much, but the figure plunges on for she mustn't stay long, anytime type of female alone in the darkness is a target. And she already has a big enough one already on her back._

_She walks past pubs, homeless men and children, couples with the smell of alcohol still fresh on them, trash, broken glass and dirty animals that roam in the night. She must hurry, for she is being hunted. She can trust no one, no matter how much her heart aches for some type of love, or comfort. She must remain strong. She must remain quick. She must remain Alone._

_CHAPTER THE FIRST-_

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been if I had been named Mary, or Jane. Both are bland names, boring, but truthfully they must be better than Enola. I mean, what sort of mother names their child 'Alone' backwards! Was it some sort of namesake, I guess I wouldn't have mind it so much, as I would have someone else that knows the pain of being 'Alone', but no, my mother had to be the first and name me Enola. At least it's not something truly dreadful, like Sherringford, or Mycroft.

Sometimes I wonder if my mother was high on drugs when she named me. Naaahh, it's just the crazy insane life of being a Holmes.

Holmes, you say? Like the famous Sherlock Holmes, the World's Only Consulting Detective? Yes, I am, sadly, his younger sister. We Holmes have excellent brain power and strange names. We get it from our mother. Who, besides being a bit mad, is absolutely brilliant, but then again, the best people usually are.

It was July 4th that my dear old mum left me. Started out like any other day I suppose, she said her usual farewell to me, "You will do very well on your own, Enola." She said that to me every single time she left the house. A bit OCD if you ask me.

Where was I? Oh yes, my mother left the house with a sketchbook and pencils, most likely going off to sketch the flower meadows. The house keeper, Mrs. Lane, gave me my birthday presents during the evening, when my mother failed to come back.

Oh yeah, I forget to tell you my mother left on my birthday. At the time, it seemed strange and an unnecessary piece of information, but it wasn't. Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Best to just tell you what my mother gave me for my birthday.

*A drawing kit. (No complaints there.)

*A book titled: _The Meaning of Flowers: Including also Notes Upon the messages Conveyed by Hats, Scarves, Sealing-Wax and Postage-Stamps. _(Really? Like, what the heck mum! Who uses sealing-wax anymore? I love books, but this seems a bit useless!)

*A small book filled with ciphers. (Insert deadpan here. Ciphers, I can't even to a Rubix cube for Pete's sake!)

There, that's it. Not even a new camera, which is what I really wanted. But, I can't complain, at least my insane mother remembered my birthday. After eating my cake and opening my presents there was a small itch at the back of my mind. _Where was Mum?_ But I quickly dismissed it; she was just painting the flowers, right?

I headed up to my room and took several pictures of my presents and some of my drawings and posted them on Tumblr. Tumblr, much different from Facebook or Twitter.

Getting sidetracked here. Sorry.

I spent the rest of my day, traveling the internet and reading up on my brother's adventures. The websites, 'The Science of Deduction' and Dr. John Watson's blog are my only bookmarks. I love reading their stories, and wished that I had something interesting of my own to post for everyone to read instead of pictures of my dog, Reginald.

I was five, don't ask.

I fell asleep with my clothes on, sprawled across my sheets. Daylight filtered through the curtains and open windows. Open windows, a habit for me. I stretched and sat up, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the 'sand' that was there.

I rolled out of bed and crossed my room to my wardrobe. I opened it and sighed.

"Today I feel blue…"

I picked out a comfortable big blue sweater and threw it on. It was accompanied by a pair of old jeans and tennis shoes. I pulled my hair back with a ponytail and studied my face in the mirror.

I'm not vain, I don't like girly things really, dresses are a pain to wear, and I don't have a single pair. Even though I come from a high class family, my mother never really in forced the rules on me. She encouraged me to run and to ride a bike. She taught me to read and do sums at an early age. I'm top of my class at my school. I've read all the books in our library twice.

But I'm not anywhere as brilliant as my brothers. Sherlock is a consulting detective; he's solved hundreds of cases. My eldest brother, Mycroft, is in the British Government. Sherlock says, more like he _is _the British Government.

Oh dear, I have rambled off again. I was supposed to be telling you what I looked like. Stupid Author. **Watch it girly. I know where you live.**

Ahem, anyway, mother said that I look like Sherlock. If Sherlock was a girl. I have a beanpole figure, and no curves. I have long muddy, troublesome hair that likes to get tangled and always have bits of twig and leaf in it. My lips are too small, my skin too pale and my eyebrows too bushy. My nose is rather large too. But my eyes…

Eyes like storm clouds my mother say; eyes that show every single emotion, no matter how hard I try to hide them. Eyes that would almost always give me away.

**Rambling.**

Shut it you panda

**Giraffe Panda.**

**GiraffePanda2.**

Help me.

After I chose my outfit for the day, I set off towards the woods in our backyard, brushing off Mrs. Lane's attempts of me having breakfast. I'll eat when my mother is found, I had told her.

I went out on my bike, dodging trees and big rocks. I follow an old path that I know my mother usually took to where the flowers are. I keep an eye out for any sign of my mother and her signature straw hat with a homemade flower on top of it.

Finally my journey was over, and I hopped off my bike, before it even hit the ground I was off, running towards where my mother usually set up her easel to paint the landscapes. As I stood on the top of the hill, I took in the view. Flowers as far as I could see, and then the town starts, I could spot the people walking along the streets. I sighed and continued to take in the breathtaking view before I suddenly remembered the reason why I was there. My mother!

I rush back and forth the trees, calling out her name. Thank God for 20-20 vision.

BABOOM!

Thunder crashed above me and I instinctively ducked. Realizing I was safe, I stood up and searched for my bike. Apparently I was here for much longer than I thought for the sun was low in the sky and covered by clouds.

It took a few minutes for me to come to an understanding.

I won't be riding my bike back to my house.

Well crap!

I could just wait here for someone to come and find me, but here is no way I would be some helpless pitiful young girl. I was fifteen for Pete's sake! I was going to walk home, I was not going to get lost, and I _would _get there before it rained.

…

…

…

That plan failed.

I stood in the mudroom, taking off my sweater and wringing out my hair onto the floor. Mrs. Lane appeared by my side with a towel and I graciously took it. Mumbling a thanks and again waving off her attempts to get me to eat, I walked back upstairs to my room.

I kicked off my shoes and shut the door. I dragged off my wet jeans and dug in my closet for something a bit more comfortable. Finally, I was ready.

I sat in my chair, at my desk in a pair of fuzzy pajama bottom and a tank top that I wore underneath my sweater. With my hair up in a towel I decided it was time to write an email to my dear old brothers.

Oh God in Heaven, please help me.

…

…

...

…

…

It was July 6th, 3:03 am when Sherlock read the email Enola sent him. He clicked on the email that said: URGENT! FROM ENOLA

_Dear Sherlock, its Enola, your sister. _

_Mum's missing._

_She left two days ago, hasn't returned. No body and no clues. Please come soon._

_Sincerely,_

_EH_

Sherlock sprang up, happy to finally have a case. He grabbed his scarf and rushed out the door. "John, there's case in Kineford, I'll be back!" He shouted, forgetting that not everyone is used to his sleeping habits.

…

…

…

It was only two hours after Sherlock left, that Mycroft was woken and read Enola's plea for help. He wasn't in a good mood, unhappy that his assistant woke him up two hours before his alarm did.

A bit groggily, he opened up his email and read the message.

_Dear Mycroft, its Enola._

_I have come to the conclusion that our Mum's gone missing. Two days since she left no clues or body. Please come._

_Your sister,_

_Enola Eudoria Holmes_

Mycroft immediately felt more awake and stood up. Crossing the room he told his assistant, who was, as usual, typing away on her phone. "Pack my things, I'm going home."

No one knew, that at the time, Mycroft, Sherlock and Enola's lives, were going to take a huge plunge into another adventure.

**SIX PAGES! Whoop! All done, goodbye, took my all day! Good four or five hours! Good bye and please review!**


	2. Crocus

**Chapter 2!**

**I don't own anything.**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

_Chapter the second!_

I awoke with a rather dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I ignored it and got up, only to fall back onto my bed because of my dog, Reginald.

"Reginald! Oi! Stop licking!" I half laughed, half shouted at him. My dog refused to do so and so I got fed up with him repeatedly licking my face without stopping. "GET OFF ME YOU RANGY MUTT!" Slowly Reginald got off me and sat on his hind legs, cocking his head to the side and whining. If he wasn't a bloody Great Dane, I would have been more considerate.

Yes, a Great Dane. Don't judge, I had a lot of good memories with Reginald. I have a spectacularly fond memory of him scaring Mycroft into dropping a sandwich. And then there was that time he swallowed Sherlock's phone and-I'm rambling again. Sorry.

"Miss Enola!" Mrs. Lane, the housekeeper, shouted up the stairs. "Breakfast is ready!" I sighed and move rather slowly out of my room, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Again?" I asked her wearily. "Sherlock never eats."

"Oh, so you want to be like your brother, the psychopath?"

"He's a high-functioning sociopath! And besides, I bet he could have probably found mum by now." I sat down at the table and Mrs. Lane set my plate of food down before me.

"Well I think that you should be who you want to be, and do what you want to do. Don't be like one of your brothers. Be yourself." My housekeeper looked down at me fondly and smiled. Patting my cheek she finished, "Be Enola."

With those confusing words she swept away from the kitchen. I sat there in confusion for a bit before realizing that I couldn't throw my food away, I had to eat it. So, rather reluctantly, I gingerly ate my scrambled eggs and toast.

After putting my dishes in the sink I wandered off to the basement. "Mr. Lane?" I called out down to the man painting in the basement. Mr. Lane is supposedly our butler, but he's more of a teacher really. He taught me how to paint.

"Yes Miss Lola?" For some strange gosh darn reason, he refuses to call me Enola, don't know why.

"I'm going out. I'm heading to the police station. To tell them about Mum." I explained. He looked up at me and swiped the sweat from his brow.

"Going out dressed like that?"

I looked down at myself. I was still wearing my pajamas and slippers. I cross my arms and huffed.

"Maybe!" I answered. Mr. Lane just laughed and went back to painting. "Taking Betsy?" he called out to me as I turned to leave. Without looking back I answered, "Of course!"

"Be careful! Roads are still slick!"

I paid no attention to his warning. If I'm going to town, I better ride out in style!

…

…

…

I opened the garage door, dressed properly this time. I wore long sleeved black turtleneck and paint-splattered jeans. I also wore black tennis shoes and a red scarf around my neck.

I walked over to my real bike. Not my bicycle, no, that's still out in the woods somewhere. I meant my motorbike.

Oh yeah.

I hop on it and started it. I flashed a smile at Mrs. and Mr. Lane's son, Richard who was 'working' in the gardens.

"Kineford City get ready or not. Here I come!" With new found joy, I sped off down the road and into the city. **Like my sister says, buckle up and say a prayer for the road kill.**

…

…

…

"And you're sure that you haven't seen her?" I asked the officer at the desk. I swear, not a single person there was under 50 years old.

"No Miss um, Lola was it?" He replied rather nervously. Of course he would be nervous, I come from a high-class family and he was just a low-ranking police officer.

"Enola. Miss Enola Holmes." I corrected tartly. "I just came in here to tell you that my mother, Mrs. Eudoria Vernet Holmes is missing. You know what she looks like, she comes in to town often enough. Now just send out a search party into the woods. My brothers will be here shortly to help. And after you have thoroughly searched the entire town, you can then go back to whatever you do in this dreary, dull place." Okay, that a bit harsh coming from me, but come on! My mum just disappeared, on my birthday! On my freaking birthday! I think I'm allowed to be a bit grumpy.

"Uh, uh," he stuttered and I sighed. I turned on my heel and walked out, huffing and puffing as I went.

"Those bloody useless fools!" I muttered to myself.

"Now, my dear Enola, there's no need to curse." A polished and calm voice wavered out to me.

I jumped and turned to face the mysterious man. "Mycroft?"

"Yes, excellent observation skills." Another voice told me.

"Sherlock?" I asked rather stupidly, for there stood my two older brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes on the sidewalk in a small town, looking around disdainfully. "Wh-what are you doing here? I wasn't really expecting you until tomorrow."

"Well when you email a message saying our dear old mum is missing, people tends to come right away." Sherlock told me dryly.

"Oh Sherlock, how I have missed your witty humor." I deadpanned. I fidgeted, uncomfortable with my appeal. My brother Mycroft was dressed impeccably, umbrella and all. While Sherlock wasn't wearing a suit, the dark purple button-up and his big wool black coat with the scarf looked quite well on him.

"Enola, please refrain from making any sarcastic comments, it's not very becoming of a woman from your status." Mycroft reprimanded me.

"Please Mycroft, woman? She is a mere girl, barely fit for the Holmes title I presume." Sherlock reminded, as if I wasn't even standing right there! I felt my blood boil.

"As much I enjoy being ignored, I'm afraid I must be going, coming back to the house with me?" I reluctantly added, please say no, and please say no!

"Yes, lead the way."

A pock on my brother Mycroft and his poshness.

**~The End~**

**All Done!**


	3. Delphinium

**Chapter 3**

**I don't own nothing but some coins, lint and paper and a half eaten muffin.**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

_Chapter the Third_

As we entered the house that I have called my home for 15 years, I could see that things were already starting to go downhill. It started when my bothersome brothers found out I drove to town on my motorcycle.

~Twenty minutes ago~

"Sure!" I cheerfully replied. Fake, of course, and I could see Mycroft shooting me a look that said 'Be careful or off with your head!' while Sherlock was looking rather bemused.

We walked along for a bit before I stopped them. "I'm afraid you'll have to take a cab now, because my bike is just over there, it won't hold three people." My brothers simultaneously raised one eyebrow and I suppressed a shudder.

"Your 'bike'?" The elder asked me. "My bike." I told him proudly. I cross the street to where I parked, started it and got going. I stopped right before my brothers though.

"I'm sure you remember where it is?" I asked them, flipping down my visor. I laughed as I rode past them and towards my house. Oh how I do love showing off.

Must be genetic.

~Now~

Now where was I? Oh yes, wishing a pock on my brothers, no wait, already did that…..

Oh yes, we were heading up to my mother's room. And I'm an idiot. I can't believe I didn't think of checking their earlier. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I almost started to beat on myself for being so dumb.

"Enola?" Mycroft's voice wavered out to me. "Coming?" His voice was calm and controlled, as usual, but there was a certain demand undertone to it. Like he knew things I didn't, and if I didn't do what he said, bad things would happen. Great, my own brother is a control-freak and a stalker. Perfect.

"Yes my queen." I mocked. I strode past him and Sherlock, up the stairs and opened my mother's doors to her bedroom with a flourish. "Welcome to where dear Mummy spent her last moments before leaving this house forever."

My brothers obviously did not appreciate my flair for the dramatic. "Don't be a drama queen Enola." Sherlock murmured, only sounding slightly annoyed. He mostly sounded bored, as always whenever he visited.

However often my brother Sherlock may act like a prick and a prat, he does take my breath away sometimes. Indeed, I felt rather impressed as I saw him step into the room and walk around carefully. His eyes darted everywhere at once, scanning, searching for some reason why mother left with no warning at all.

I tried to look like he does, I tried to see how he sees, but alas, I failed. I cannot do what the great Sherlock Holmes does.

I cannot deduct like him.

But, I refuse to give up, and I also sweep the room with my eyes, looking for something out of place, something odd, which was quite hard to do so since there was such a mess. Mother didn't like Mrs. Lane to clean her bedroom. Mother took care of it all, on her own. Making her bed, picking up her clothes, filling it up with flowers-oh my.

Oh my indeed.

"Sweet peas and thistles?" I exclaimed. I rushed over to where they stood on the nightstand. "Why on earth would-"

I was cut short by my brother swooping in and snatching it from me. Sherlock handled it like it was priceless. I gaped. Could there possibly be a clue in the vase that I found?

"Here" He ordered to me, throwing it back to me. I stumbled and caught it. Grateful I didn't spill a drop, I let out a sigh of relief. "Be careful!" I snapped at him. I was clutching the vase like it was my lifeline.

Sherlock ignored me and continued with his search. I huffed and carefully placed the vase back on the nightstand.

"Why would mother put sweet peas and thistles in the same vase?" I wondered out loud. Mycroft and Sherlock shared and exasperated look. "Well, mother was always a bit odd." Mycroft replied absentmindedly.

"All Holmes are." Was my reply. I grinned at him from where I stood. I had moved from beside the bed, to where the mother had put all the paintings she ever did. I looked back at the paintings before it really hit me.

"Wait, what do you mean by was?" I asked, turning to my eldest brother. "Do you think she's dead?"

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, maybe to even console, but Sherlock interrupted him. "To be frank, yes. At the sight of this room, it appears she may have also been slightly mad." His answer made me want to slap him, yet, almost everything that comes out of his mouth does too.

"All the best people are." I retorted back at him. "Mum's still alive."

He looked at me and sighed almost wistfully. "Oh dear," he said. Sherlock crossed the room and took my face in his hands. "Whatever goes on in your mind? How on earth could you possibly be so naïve?"

I blinked.

Once

Twice

Thrice

"Sherlock, you're scarring her." Mycroft informed him nonchalantly. Sherlock let go of my face and turned to him. "The state of the bedroom seems to be a symptom of senile dementia. Or perhaps dear our Mummy has just gotten lazy in old age."

"Old age? Really now Sherlock?"

"If you think you can do better go ahead."

"You're the detective." Mycroft's voice turned sarcastic when he said the word detective.

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Whip out that lens of yours. _Detect_."

"Girls, girls, you're both very pretty. Can I go now?" I interrupted them, my voice heavy with sarcasm. They both gave me glares and I pretended to shiver. "Oh I'm so scared really. Look, goose bumps." I pointed to my arm and both of my brothers simultaneously gave an exasperated sigh.

"You know, for supposedly hating each other, you guys sure are in sync." I observed. "First glares, now sighs?" I grinned at their expressions and started to walk out of the room.

"Enola," Mycroft started, most likely going to give me a lecture. I ignored him.

"Wait!" I shouted out. I ran back into the room and grabbed the vase that was on the nightstand. "This needs some water!" I walked out, head held up high and cradling the vase in my arms like it was a baby.

I stiffly nodded to each of my brothers as I walked by them. Old coots.

Whatever that means.

…

…

…

"Enola." Sherlock sternly said my name from behind me. I had gone downstairs into the kitchen and was filling up the vase with new water. I turned around to him.

"Sherlock." I said in the same serious tone as he did. I try my hardest not to break my poker face at his expression.

"Enola." Another deep voice called me. I turned to face the stairs to face my eldest and stoutest brother. "Enola," he repeated. My paranoia grew. His voice sounded like he was trying to comfort me. Like he was bracing me for something. What happened after I left the room?

"It appears that our mother has, ah, thumbed her nose at us."

…

…

…

"What?" I asked him.

"Mycroft, pity the girl understands. To put it simply. She has left you." Sherlock told me.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft, Mrs. Lane, and Mr. Lane's voices rang out concurrently. The housekeeper and butler had been standing by the threshold. Sherlock's expression was one of confusion.

"What?" He asked them innocently. Oh my, he didn't even realized what he just said would be considered rude, or insensitive.

"If you may please excuse me," I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I strode past my brothers, past the Lanes and up the stairs once more.

While I went, I heard Mycroft muttering to Sherlock, "You got off easy. You're lucky she didn't slap you."

**~the end~**


	4. Rhododendron

**Chapter 4**

**I don't own anything!**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

_Chapter the Fourth-_

He's right.

I should have slapped him.

…

…

…

"Mycroft sent you up here to apologize?" I asked the air. I was sitting down in front of an easel, paint brush in one hand and paint holder in the other. **(I don't know what you call them, sorry.) **I had heard my brother come up the stairs.

"If you're trying to sneak up on me, remember that I have practically built this room. I know every nook and cranny. The second to last step always creaks." I added. Sherlock still hadn't answered me. I turned around, only to find thin air. What the-

"Interesting."

"EEEEIEEEE!" I shouted. I jumped up from chair and then back down again in pure terror. "Sherlock Sherringford Holmes! How dare you scare me like that! You're lucky I didn't get paint all over this portrait or otherwise I would have your head!"

"Now, now, my dear Enola, you're beginning to sound like Mycroft." I scoffed at Sherlock's reply. I got up and peeked around the easel. How he sneaked past me, I would never know.

"Hey, what are you looking at?" I asked.

Sherlock, who was leaning, now stood up with a painting in his hand. "Very interesting."

My face paled when I saw what he held in his hand. It was the painting I had done last Christmas. "Oh, yeah, I remember that one. Took me a bit while longer than I thought it was gonna." I informed my brother. I was trying to keep a lid on my nerves. Of all the ones for him to see…..

The painting was one of Sherlock. I had painted around Christmas, two years ago, when I was 13. He had been sitting in front of the fire, slouched in the chair. There was a Christmas tree in the background and a fire roaring in the heart. His long legs were crossed and his arms hung over the arm rests of the chair. In his hand was a book, the title obscured. You could see the firelight reflecting off his eyes.

"Ahem." I coughed into my hand. I reached over, and plucked that from Sherlock's hand. "You shouldn't rifle through other people's stuff. It's rude." Sherlock gave me a strange look and told me suddenly. "No."

"No, what?" I asked.

"I didn't come up here to apologize." He answered curtly. Sherlock strode across the length of the room to where more pictures were held.

"What-? Hey! Put those down!" I shouted. Sherlock was holding a portrait I sketched of Mycroft. It was a younger version of him, probably when he was in his twenties. I had drawn it from a photograph.

"You drew him smiling." Sherlock observed.

"Yeah, well…. I may not be very fond of our brother, but he is our brother. I think it's kinda rude not to….. care ….for him." Sherlock gave be a confused look at my answer and then shook his head.

"You know," I said to him as he began looking through my other art pieces. It made me a bit mad, to be honest, but what Sherlock wants Sherlock gets. "He thinks you hate him." Sherlock just nodded his head and 'hmm'-Ed me.

"Do you?" I asked.

"Do I what?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't play clueless with me, _Shirley_, do you hate Mycroft?"

"Do you?"

The question caught me off balance. I had to ponder a moment before answering. "When he sticks his large nose into my business, I get angry with him. Sometimes he can get so overbearing. I think he may be making up for dad. Mycroft can be….very…._controlling _at times. At those times, I don't like him, but no, I don't hate him. I don't think I could ever hate anyone."

Sherlock stood straight and fixed his cold yet bright blue eyes on me. He murmured something that I couldn't quite hear.

"What's this?"

"Huh?" was my intelligent answer. I walked over to where Sherlock was, (how does he move so fast) and took a look at what was in his hands. I did a double-take. "Give that back!" I shouted at him, reaching for the little red book that was in his hands. It was the cipher book mom gave me.

Sherlock stretched his arm, the one that was holding the book, over my head and dangled it. "No." His negativity was getting on my nerves.

I didn't want to beg, so I stopped reaching for it and instead stomped on Sherlock's foot. The reaction was instantaneous. He dropped my cipher book and I caught it in my hands. "Good." I said happily.

"Now that that is out of the way, where is Mum?"

…

…

…

"I won't say."

Crap.

"You won't say." I repeated quietly. "Meaning, you don't know, or that you can't tell me." I felt my blood boiling. My mother, no, _our _mother left me and my brother, the world's greatest detective won't tell me what happened to her? Oh no, aw _heck _no.

My mind was clouded with anger, and I slammed into Sherlock. I shoved him up against the wall, holding him there by his shoulders. "I swear to God Sherlock, you find Mother, or so help I will kill you." My tone showed that I was serious. Mrs. Lane was more of a mother figure than my real mother, but Mum is Mum. She taught me what I knew, how to put up with Sherlock and Mycroft.

Sherlock's eyes flickered to the right for a moment. "Please, you couldn't possibly kill someone. You said it yourself; you could never even bring yourself to _hate _someone."

"You misunderstand, dear Sherlock, I said I could never bring myself to hate. I never said that I couldn't kill."

We stare down at each other for a few moments before an 'ahem' gets our attention. "Do I even want to know?" Mycroft asked us from the doorway. He was looking at us, and by us I mean me, with distain.

"No." I answered slowly. I let go of Sherlock and backed up slowly and calmly. "How may I help you?" I asked, raising one eyebrow.

Mycroft answered me while sharing a secret conversation with Sherlock. "You're going to boarding school."

**~The End~**

**I listened to "I Knew You Were Trouble" by Taylor Swift during this. Don't know why.**


	5. Striped Carnation

**I don't own Enola, if I did; she would have her own TV series, doll, clothing line, and a seventh book.**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

_Chapter the Fifth-_

I cocked my head to the side and then said something that I …um… probably should not have said…..

I narrowed my eyes and swept past Mycroft, holding my head high. It would have been more intimidating if I hadn't tripped down the stairs.

I stomped to my room and slammed the door. My mother, my mother! Where are you!

I strode to the wardrobe, ripped my clothes off and slipped into some clothes that were more comfortable. I picked out gray sweatpants and a black long-sleeved shirt. I took my red scarf and tied it to my bed post. Think Enola, think!

_You will do very well on your own, Enola._

Mum.

~Ivy~

Okay, so now what?

I stood in the middle of my mother's bedroom/sitting area. There's got to be something that I missed….. Something I didn't see before.

_Something Sherlock didn't see before? Please._

Shut up negative side of mind, I'm trying to observe here!

Okay, okay let's see….

Clothes thrown around, there's that vase of thistles and sweet peas, and a couple of paints and papers on the desk. I walked carefully over to them. _Let's see here: there's a bunch of flowers, I think a daisy, pansy, sweet pea, junk like that… Oh! A drawing of Reginald, he looks nice… hmm…._

Flowers…

Flowers…

…

…

…

FLOWERS! Flowers!-Flo-flowers! I rushed out of my mother's room, slamming open the door and climbing up the stairs, taking two at a time. Flowers, the book of flowers! Yes. There's a message in there, the sweet peas and thistles were a clue! There's got to be, there's just got to be!

I slammed the door open, again, and grabbed the book _The Meaning of Flowers: Including also Notes Upon the messages Conveyed by Hats, Scarves, Sealing-Wax and Postage-Stamps_. Flipping through the pages until I found where sweet peas were located. Nothing. Not a single flipping thing!

I shook the book and groaned when not a single note failed to come into my line of vision. I flipped to thistles, Nada. Well, sod it.

"Damaging the book will not help in the search of our mother."

Oh bloody heck.

"NOW, you start wanting to help with finding Mum? Where were you," I checked my phone, "three hours ago?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at me, "It's only been 73 minutes."

"I'm not good with time; now leave me alone to my sulking please."

My brother sighed and shook his head at me, as if I had disappointed him. I gaped at him as he drew closer and stole the book right from my hands.

"Perhaps if you took the time to actually, _read_, the contents of the book, it would help you in your search." Sherlock carefully and meticulously **(A/N: I kept thinking that was how you spelled maliciously for a long time….) **turned the pages until he found sweet peas again and then gave it back to me.

"Did you just shake your head at me?" Sorry, I'm still not past that. Sherlock gave me any amused glance and then walked out. I stared after him, _what the-_

_Ping!_

"Ow!" I shouted, clutching my head. What did Sherlock just throw at me?

"Here, I no longer have any use of it." Oh, the book, the little red book full of ciphers Mum gave me. I remember that.

"Did you have to _throw_ it at me?" Sorry, I am still confused here, what? Why was Sherlock coming near me? And why was he lifting his arms-oh god.

"Goodbye Enola. I have only a small amount of doubt that you will not disappoint me." Sherlock, my brother, the stone statue, the brick wall and emotionless robot had given me a goodbye hug. He had embraced me, and put his chin on the top of my head. I stiffly and rather awkwardly placed my arms around him, and hugged him back.

"Um, thanks?" _Please stop hugging me, please stop hugging me, please stop-whew_. Sherlock back away with a slight smirk on his face. He put his hands on my shoulders and advised, "Stand tall Enola. Stand tall."

With a swish of his coat, and a twinkle in his eye, my favorite brother was gone.

**This is a short chapter, but I love the ending, I could just see it now, Enola feeling really awkward, I kinda imagine it is like when Lord Voldemort and Draco hugged.**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	6. Stargazer

**Disclaimer: Again, don't own. Fudge.**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

_Chapter the Sixth-_

I stared for a good ten minutes at the threshold where Sherlock had just disappeared from. I shook my head, trying to erase what just happened. I was right, all Holmes are insane.

My gaze targeted on the cipher book that was on floor, by my feet. I pounced on it. I checked around my bedroom, just feeling as though I was being watching for a strange reason. I walked quietly over to my door and closed. I listened as I slid the lock in place for the little _click!_

I then smiled. Let's get cracking! I strode over to my desk and sat in my chair. My furniture was white so, quite expectantly, my desk was covered in paint splatters and pencil marks. I grabbed a blank spiral notebook, I have dozens of these, and I opened the cipher book to the first page.

_To my dear, dear daughter, Enola Eudoria Holmes-You will do quite well on your own._

_-Eudoria Vernet Holmes_

Covered the first page. I sighed, not even a 'Love, Mum'? Great…. Anyway, focus Enola. Ciphers. Ciphers.

I flipped the page, okay, first cipher. It went like this:

ALO NEK OOL NIY MSM UME HTN ASY RHC

Drat. I almost cried out. Why couldn't it be something _other_ than ciphers? I gave the cipher another glance. Fine Mum, I'll do it your way. I carefully re wrote the cipher on my page. Okay, it can't all be three letters. Combine them Enola.

ALONEKOOLNIYMSMUMEHTNASYRHC

Alone, that's Enola backwards; maybe if I turned it backwards it'll all make more sense.

CHRYSANTHEMUMSMYINLOOKENOLA

Wait, that said mum over there maybe-wait. Before it. Chrysanthemums. That's a type of flower, in fact, that was what bordered the page the cipher is on!

CHRYSANTHEMUMS MY IN LOOK ENOLA

Turn it around.

ENOLA LOOK IN MY CHRYSANTHEMUMS

She wanted me to go digging in the garden? But it rained they would be ruined. Even the idea that they would even be under the flowers is preposterous. Wait, what would she consider _her _chrysanthemums? The pictures! The paintings on her wall in her bedroom, all I needed to do now was sneak down stairs, avoiding Mycroft and check the paintings. I grinned and laughed with joy. I was not totally stupid. I enjoyed the feeling of victory and triumph when I solved it. What are the others?

I slipped my socks on and dawned a beanie to stuff my messy hair in. Quietly as I could, I snuck down the stairs, skipping the ones that creaked and ducking behind doors when one of the Lanes came by. Finally, I came to my mother's room. I creaked open the door.

"Hello, Enola."

"WAAAH!" I shouted out and I tripped over my own two left feet. I took a tumbled to the floor and grunted. I looked up to see my stupid brother's smug and pompous face come into view. A look of slight concern came over, but there was a bit of fakeness to it.

"Great Scotts Mycroft, You could have given me heart attack!" I exclaimed, standing up and brushing myself off. I was a bit red from embarrassment. I didn't like it that Mycroft scared me, it's humiliating.

"I doubt that, since you are of only fourteen."

"Fifteen." I corrected absentmindedly, now staring around my mother's room. It appears that Mrs. Lane had cleaned up in here, shame.

"Fifteen, already?" Mycroft raised one eyebrow at me, looking a cross between bemused and surprised. "Well, you are certainly tall enough to be so."

"That a height joke?" I questioned him, my head whipping around so that I faced him.

Mycroft sighed wearily. Were all family members disappointed in me?

"Has Sherlock left already?" He already knows that, why is he asking me?

"Yeah, but I suspect you already knew that, so why ask me?"

Mycroft smirks and gives his umbrella a little spin. He walked past me and patted me on the head. "You _are _a Holmes dear, use that brain." I was flabbergasted; again what's with all my brothers? They are acting all so…. Unusual. Like, they actually _care _about me… That's just weird.

"By the way," Mycroft's head came back into view from the doorway. "You're little outburst doesn't change anything, you're still going to boarding school."

I gave him one of my special 'stink-eye' glares and huffed as he just left, continuing up into the guest room.

Finally, now that he is out of the way. I walked to the wall where all of the paintings hung in their little glass and birch wood frames. I hunted out one that had chrysanthemums painted on the paper and took it down. Luckily, it wasn't too high.

I set it down on the desk and examined the back. Finding nothing I decided to tear the brown paper away finally found a something Mum had left me behind.

But not a note, a goodbye letter telling me she actually and truly loved me, but a stack of a hundred dollar bills. I weighed it in my hand, about of fifty bills in each stack, and two stacks. They have fifteen hundreds, ten fifties, fifteen twenties and the other ten is in ones. If each cipher lead me to a hiding spot for money like this, and there's at least twenty ciphers well… Mother was a bit more, erm, eccentric than I thought. I wonder how she got the money to do this.

I heard footsteps approaching and stuff the money stacks into my shirt, wear my chest would be, but all there was flatness and a sports bra.

"Miss Enola?" It was Mrs. Lane, who had come in. Foolishly I had forgotten to close the door before opening up the painting.

"Yes?" I answered, turning around so I could face the long time elderly family friend. Her face was full of wrinkles, but she had a kind look on her face and a pitying smile. Uh oh.

"I heard about boarding school."

Oh Snap.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Oh Crap.

"Are you?"

I gulped and gave her a smile in return, I hope it wasn't to unsteady. "My mother left me without a word on my birthday, my brother's insult me, and then send me off to boarding school. I don't think I'm 'okay'." I answered her truthfully.

Mrs. Lane came closer and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. "Don't worry dearie. You will be." She turned around and left, with me smiling fondly after her. She is like the mother-figure I always wanted.

"If the size of those money stacks were any clue, you will be much more than okay." Mrs. Lane told me, chuckling. With that, she left, after giving me a wink.

I stared after her, a grin growing on my face. She was right. I wasn't going to be okay.

I was going to be fantastic.

**The end, I liked that last line 'I was going to be fantastic'. Reminded me of Doctor Who and the ninth doctor. Anyway, hope you liked that chapter! Next time on GiraffePanda2 stories!**


	7. This is what Holmes do

**Disclaimer: I own Enola Holmes. Just kidding, I don't. I really, really, really, wish I did though. I don't own anything Enola or Sherlock, but the idea for Reginald to be a Great Dane is mine. (In the books he is a beagle, I think.) I came up with it all on my own, so I claim it.**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

_Chapter the SEVENTH-_

Please, somebody, help me.

I gritted my teeth as the woman in a pencil skirt and ridiculous heels started to wrap a tape measure around my body. She measured everything. Yes, everything.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Much too small." She muttered, scribbling down measurements.

I don't even want to know. I just don't.

"Are we almost done here?" I asked her wearily, I just want to go do more ciphers and find more money. Okay, that sounded selfish and uncaring…. Well, I _am_ a Holmes.

She gave me a sharp look and I reprimanded myself. _Kindness Enola, kindness….._

I cleared my throat, "Perhaps, um, may I, that is, get a glass of water? My throat is getting a bit parched." I gave her, what I hoped was anyway, a winning smile. The lady suddenly smiled back and nodded her head cheerfully. Huh, I never figured that being nice to people would get you places.

She took away her torture measuring tape and packed up her things. She exited the room and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Tired?" Mrs. Lane's kind voice wavered to me from the doorway. I turned to her with a grim smile. "I don't like being touched."

"Ah, yes. I remember. But you seem fine when I give you a hug."

"I've known you for 12 years; I don't even know the woman's name."

"Oh dearie," Mrs. Lane came near me. "Everything will be alright, you'll see." She made to pat my shoulder but I moved out of the way. She 'tsk-ed' at me and shook her head.

"Your brothers are a bad influence on you." Mrs. Lane left after telling me that. I stared at the floor and murmured,

"Oh you have no idea," I sighed and cracked my neck, getting ready to solve more ciphers.

"No idea."

…

…

…

AOEOLIMESOK

LNKONYDBBN

"WHAT DOES IT MEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAN?" my voice echoed throughout my studio. I decided to solve the ciphers in my studio instead of my bedroom, because no one ever comes up here but me. Then again, who is here to come up here?

I was frustrated, deeply. My eyes scanned over the ciphers…. _Is it some sort of anagram?_ I sighed and started over, writing it out again.

AOEOLIMESOK

LNKONYDBBN

I stared at the page in the book, there was hand-drawn ivy crawling up and down the edges of the page. Up and down. UP and DOWN. That's it! I quickly scribbled down what I hoped would be correct.

ALONEKOOLNIYMDEBSBONK

Switch it around.

KNOBSBEDMYINLOOKENOLA

Again.

ENOLA LOOK IN MY BEDKNOBS

_Bed knobs? What kind of person hides stuff in the bed knobs?_ None-the-less, I got up and tip-toed down into my mother's room. After unscrewing the bed knobs, I found large stacks of cash hidden in each of them. I smiled.

"What would my brother's think of me if they could see me now?" I asked the open air. I didn't expect an answer.

"Miss Lola."

I whipped around to face Mr. Lane, who was watching me with a stone statue face. "M-Mr. Lane, how much did you see?" I asked calmly, only stuttering lightly.

"Enough." He answered just as calm.

I nodded my head and looked down. "What now?" I asked him. "Do you intend to rat me out? Stop me?"

To my utter surprise, the sound of laughter filled my ears. My head shot up and I was shocked to see my old and dear friend Mr. Lane laughing at me.

"No, Miss Lola, I would never stop you. I just need to ask you of something."

I sighed with relief, and then perked up. _What on earth could Mr. Lane possibly want? _

"Promise me you'll be careful."

My face lit up into a tender and rare smile. I nodded my head and ran to him, throwing my arm around him. "Of course. I will always be careful." I answered him. He hugged me back tightly and I breathed in his scent. It almost made me cry, the thought of having to leave for boarding school and not being able to see Mr. Lane again.

We parted the embrace, and he left me in my mother's room. "Be careful." I echoed Mr. Lane's words. Suddenly, my shoulders seemed to be weighed down with a terrible feeling… of sadness. It then fully hit me. My mother is gone, maybe even dead. I'm leaving the one place I called home for boarding school.

I walked slowly up to my studio, where I stood there for a long time, or perhaps just minutes. Watching the raindrops scroll down the window. Rain, it hadn't rained like this since Mother disappeared...

I sniffed, feeling very sad, and very sorry for myself. Mum.

I grabbed a notebook that was lying around. I needed to vent. I needed to sketch. I drew thick and dark lines across the page, shaping the lead trail that my pencil was leaving into a face. Strong sharp features, small mouth, bit of a nose and wise eyes. Wrinkles quickly covered the face and before I knew it, I was staring at Mum.

Teardrops fell onto the page and I cried out. I threw the notebook against the wall in a sudden fit of rage. _How dare she, how dare she! How dare my mother just up and leave me to the wolves, to _Mycroft!I stood up, only to slide back down the wall again. _How _could_ she? Why would she?_

I sighed; throwing a temper tantrum will not find Mum. That's what I was going to do. Find Mum. Wherever she may be, with whomever she is with, I will find my mother. I will find the lost. I will solve the mystery of where my mother went and why. I will solve the unsolvable. Because I am a Holmes.

And this is what Holmes do.

**Let me first clear some things up: One, I am American, so I used the American system of money because I have no idea what British people use. **

**Two, the reason the title at the beginning of the chapters are 'The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft' is because in the books, the title for the first book is 'the Case of the Missing Marquess', who is Lord Tewksberry. And instead of having Lord Tewky, I instead will have it be a politician's son, who is kind of like Mycroft, all stuffy and stern. He's a year older than Enola then rather being two years younger than her like Tewky.**

**Thirdly, the names of chapters were supposed to flowers that I thought reflected what the chapter meant, but it's so unbelievably hard to find it, so whatever, I'm naming that whatever I want now. Who cares?**

**And then, finally, this chapter was going to longer, but I wanted to end on that cool little 'This is what Holmes do' thing.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**~GP2**


	8. Goodbyes

**Disclaimer: don't own anything, but something.**

_The Case of the Missing Mini-Mycroft_

_Chapter the Eighth-_

Five weeks later, I was ready.

Meaning, I was ready to hatch my escapade and runaway. To London.

Yes, London, where my brother Sherlock was known to live, no, I am not stupid, it will be the last place he will ever look for me. Brilliant, I know. Now, while I had been preparing and packing secretly for London, my eldest brother, Mycroft was preparing to send me off to boarding school, like that would ever happen.

Now, as you remember, there was the seamstress, well, the 'tsk tsk too small', she was referring to my 'womanly figure', meaning, that I had very small chest. I don't really care, but that taught me something very useful, if I use it right. I could, if played right, hold items inside my bra, like: Swiss knife, energy candies, handkerchief, and money.

Now I can't do it too much, that's just awkward and uncomfortable, but it does help a bit.

"Miss Enola?" Mr. Lane called out to me from my bedroom door. I look up from my desk, where I had been sketching in a small black book. (No, not that small black book) "Car is ready." I smiled, and nodded, "Thanks Mr. Lane.

I stood up to get my bags when it hit me. "You called me Enola." I stated. He nodded and a sad sort of smile lit up his face.

"Though I call you Enola, let us hope and pray, that you will never truly be alone." He walked to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Don't ever be alone, Enola." With that, my faithful and loyal teacher took my bags downstairs and I was left alone in my room.

I smiled to myself. "Don't ever be alone, eh?" I laughed out loud. "You stole that from Doctor Who you old man!" I finished giggled and grabbed the last of my bags. Now it was time to set my plan in motion.

London, get ready for another Holmes.

As I walked downstairs and to the front hallway, Mrs. Lane was there and she smiled, her hands trembling and she just waved at me. No words were needed between us. I stopped and waved to her also. With that, I turned around and marched out the door, and into the taxi.

Mycroft was waiting for me outside, and just as I was about to get in, he stopped me.

"Now, Enola." He started to say, I hold up my hands though, stopping him momentarily.

"No thanks big bro, I've decided I have had enough goodbyes." I told him, I just pat him on the shoulder and climb into the cab.

"Just," he started, he let out a breath, almost sighing, "just be careful Enola." I smiled at him, wow, it is possible he actually-

"I don't want any more tarnish on the Holmes name." With that, my brother slams the car door.

"I'll be in touch Enola." He reminded me and resist the urge to stick out my tongue, but I just nod. As the cab drives away and whispered in a sing song voice.

"No you won't."

**Sorry for not updated in a really long time, yeah this chapter is short, but, at least I got it out there. Anyway, she has finally left the house! Dang, finally, it got tiring! REMEMBER, PLEASE REVIEW!**

**-GP2**


	9. I would be

**Disclaimer: I don't own Enola Holmes, there should be a seventh book and not to mention but she should have at least five movies, and a television show. I would like to say I own the plot, but actually, I don't… so that sucks for me. Sigh.**

* * *

**_The Case of Missing Mini-Mycroft_**

_CHAPTER THE NINTH-_

I waited until we had left Kineford City behind and I could make my escape. "Excuse me." I asked the cab driver. "Could you please stop here?" the cab driver immediately parked the car and turned around in his seat to face.

"Anything Miss 'Nola." I smiled at him. Good old Richie.

Richie is Mr. and Mrs. Lane's son, now, while many people believe him to be dim-witted because of his dyslexia, he's actually quite brilliant. I don't know how he did it, but Richie somehow managed to be the cab driver of the taxi Mycroft hailed for me. Therefore, he's now my favorite person, even if he did tear my favorite book when I was little.

"Now, now Richie." I said with a slight Cockney accent. "My name is Ivy Meshle. I don't know anyone named Enola" I smiled cheerfully and exited the cab. I grabbed my things from the trunk and slammed it shut. Richie drove off towards Burning Wood Academy for Young Girls, while I would be off towards the trains station and then to London.

I grabbed my bags and brushed the dirt I had acquired already on the journey off. I set off towards the left, where it would only be about two miles until I hit the station. Luckily, for me, I had hidden a bicycle I constructed of parts behind some trees nearby and I immediately hopped on and rode off.

I had never ridden with baggage before, and it was quite difficult, I must admit. I know now that you should always be careful with how much you pack for an escapade. I have learned this the hard way.

Now let me explain my disguise. I had finally decided on a new identity for me to use. I can't be called Enola Holmes now can? Too many red flags. So I decided to use the Ivy Meshle. Ivy means fidelity in the book. If you split up the syllables in Holmes, (HOL-MES), and then switch them around, (MES-HOL) pronounce it the way it looks, (MESHOL) then spell it the way it sounds, (MESHLE) and there you have it. Ivy Meshle. So brilliantly simple no one could ever figure it out.

Oh, I hope I didn't just jinx myself.

…

…

…

About an hour or so later, almost noon I believe, I arrived at the train's station. It was in the town of Gale, which you might think was a small town, but it was actually pretty big. It even had a politician living in it. Whoopedoo.

Gosh, I hope I don't run into any politicians, I've met my brother enough times. I don't want to meet any more government people.

"Excuse miss, may I help you?" the ticket-seller asked me curiously. Of course, I had been standing there for a good ten minutes, brooding over my course of action. You might be asking me why I didn't have it all planned out already, well I have the answer for that for you.

If not even _I _know what I am going to do, how could my brothers? I had laid false clues for them though, several. I hope it gives them a good solid headache.

I smiled at the ticket-seller cheerfully; _oh this was going to be fantastic_. "May I please get one ticket to London please?" he cocked an eyebrow at me. "London, miss?" I nodded. "You sure?" I nodded again. "You want to go to London?" I gave another nod, this time a bit more sharply. "Lo-"

"Yes, I want to go visit London, I'm meeting my mother there." The lie came easily, which almost kind of sickened me. Now that I think about it, I have been lying more in this past month than I have in all of my life. I hope that I don't have to lie more than needed.

The ticket-seller slowly nodded and handed me the ticket after I offered him the money. "Be careful, miss." I didn't even bother nodding, but took the ticket and went off my way. I grabbed my bags and decided to go visit a cafe. The train wouldn't leave until around two forty-five, so I had plenty of time to kill. But before I could go traveling, I had to change, so that's exactly what I did in the bathroom of the café.

The reason why I didn't change before buying the ticket is that my brother would be on me possibly by nightfall, they would look for the people who bought tickets at trains stations, so when they look at the security camera's, they would see me, dressed as I usually am, but when I get on the train, I would be a completely different person.

I would no longer be Enola Holmes, younger sister of Sherlock Holmes, World's Greatest Detective. Nor would I be the riffraff of the family, the black sheep. I would-

"Newspaper miss?" a boy, perhaps my age asked me. I admit I stared at him in shock for a bit before taking one. I had forgotten I was just sitting in the cafe. I paid him for one and opened it immediately. Let's see, nothing of interest really, cabinet shuffle, but that's old news-oh.

Oh my indeed.

My eye narrowed and I grew closer to the article. This could prove to be very interesting for me…

**POLITICIAN'S SON TRAGICALLY KIDNAPPED**

* * *

**Ha! This takes the cake, best cliffhanger I have ever written so far, I might add. I also realized that I have been missing the little titles for a couple of chapters now, I apologize, I'm gonna start to do that again now. Anyway, that's it for now! Catch you later-**

**-GP2!**


End file.
